


Maybe It’s the Way You Hold Me

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [39]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Is it ever a good idea to meet an ex for coffee?





	Maybe It’s the Way You Hold Me

_I’m in town. Could we talk?_

You can’t believe you agreed to meet him, but a coffee shop seems public and impersonal enough for you to tolerate the meeting. You will not hug him, nor kiss his cheek, and you may avoid shaking his hand. The less contact the better.

It had been five years since you two had seen each other; the first man you had been in love with and the first man you had invested everything into, from your first kiss to your first time. Yet he had left you because ‘he had to’ (his words not yours). You were probably due for an explanation, and that’s the only reason you were here.

The silver band on your thumb taps the overly large coffee mug, half of the chai tea gone, and you glance at your watch again. He’s almost ten minutes late, and you can’t deal. Pulling your purse onto your shoulder, you stand to your feet just as customers enter the café. Jon enters last.

You’re frozen, wondering how the years could’ve only made him more attractive. His shaggy hair is shorter, his build has broadened, and he wears that air of confidence that just overwhelms you. Your breath catches in your throat as he tucks his shades into his collar and scans the room.

When his eyes meet yours, your body reacts. Your whole body begs you to make contact with him, but your mind tells every muscle to shut up.

Jon smiles as he approaches you, while he looks relieved you only feel hurt by his familiarity. Why the hell didn’t anyone warn you that your first love is like a drug addiction? There was always that chance of relapse, getting caught up in the feeling and forgetting the effects.

All your thinking prevents a proper defense as he embraces you tightly, letting out a breath in your ear, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You can’t bring yourself to hug him back, putting your hands on his biceps and pushing lightly, “That makes one of us.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope, I’ve got it covered.” You sit back down, easing your purse strap onto the back of the chair once more, “You’re late.”

“I got caught in traffic. Trust me, I was pissed.” Jon sits across from you, clearly receiving your warning about maintaining the space, “How’ve you been?”

“Seriously?” You let out a sharp laugh, crossing your arms and shaking your head, “That’s the first thing you say to me. Not I’m sorry. Not a multitude of excusing. Just how am I doing?”

He swallows hard, folding his hands in front of himself and leaning on the table, “I knew I had to see you. I knew I wanted to say something. Nothing seems good enough.”

Okay, that was a better start. You sigh, “How are things in Las Vegas?”

“Business.” He waits for your eyes, insisting, “That’s it. Just business.”

God, the blue of his eyes remained unidentifiable to you. All you know is that his stare was about as close as you could get to actual hypnosis. You hang your head, picking at invisible lint on your jeans, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, I just wanted to make it clear.” Jon’s frustration begins to show, “I didn’t leave because of us, because of you.”

“Great, so this conversation is over.” You snatched your purse again and make a bee line for the door; your heart couldn’t take a lie or half-ass apology. This meeting was a terrible idea.

“(Y/N), wait!”

You ignore him, pressing the button to unlock your car and force the driver door open; unfortunately, he had caught you just in time to slam it shut. You can’t look him in the eye, remaining with your fact to your car as he stands beside you.

“I know it’s hard to understand the decision I made, but you should probably hear that you helped me to make the decision that I did.”

Now, you want to hit him, “Go to hell!” You try to open the door again, only to have him repeat his process and slam it shut, “What the fuck do you want from me!” You look over at him, eyes full of hateful tears; his eyes soften, and he moves to touch the skin your off shoulder sweater exposes. When he does, you back away a step, wounded.

Jon slides one hand into his hair, strangling the strands, “You told me you loved me.”

“I meant it.” You smack tears away, snickering under your breath, “Because I’m an idiot.” When your eyes drift back up to his, you see pain clouding his features and your anger increases, “So you took my words, you throw them back in my face, and disappear. But it’s NOT my fault, so consider us square and leave the state again.”

Chewing on his cuticles, Jon seethes, “You think it was easy for me to leave?

 “Oh, I know it was. You got to forget me. No pressure.”

 “I love you, (Y/N)!” He screams it at you, causing you to step back once more, “And I was pretty goddamn sure I would fuck it up so I thought I’d make it easier on both of us by leaving!”

“Perfect reasoning! Are we done now?”

When you step to your car this time, Jon grabs your waist and turns you so that your back is pressed against the door. You hate that his touch sends currents through you, still swept up in the memory of how he knew your body like no one else…still so deeply in love. He must sense it because one of his hands grabs your hair and his lips are hard against yours. Part of you wants to attack him in return, claw at him until he remembers exactly what he’s left. Instead, you wait for him to cease his action and hug your hands to your chest, desperately trying to avoid touching him – pulling him close – make the kiss memorable.

Jon stops, pressing his forehead to yours, “I didn’t know how to accept the way you felt for me. But, now…I just want to try.”

You try to speak and only end up choking back a sob. It hurts. Physically hurts to deny yourself of him, but the inevitable loss terrifies you into cowardice.

“Please, don’t run from me…”

You lean into his touch as his thumb wipes away your tears, “The way you ran from me?”

“I’m fucked. I’m a bastard. I don’t deserve you, and I have no right to keep you from the man who does deserve you.” Jon’s vulnerability stuns you silent, “And I’m such an asshole that I don’t care. I’m here to get you back.”


End file.
